


Without You.

by OnlyHereForGallavich (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disappearance, Domestic!Gallavich, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gallavich, Husbands, M/M, Marriage, cute lil yev, god i love their family, missing!mickey, worried!ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OnlyHereForGallavich
Summary: Mickey has been missing for nearly four months... and Ian is going out of his mind with worry. A 'lil something I wrote because our children are happy again :)It better last *threatening looks*





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guysssss
> 
> OH MY GOD GALLAVICH IS BACK I AM ALIIIIVE!!!  
> WOOP WOOP!!!
> 
> okay, I'm done :)
> 
> Well, I love you all, thanks for reading, hope you like it x

It had been four months since Mickey had gone missing. Since the last time Ian had slept next to his husband in their typical tangle of limbs, since their last lazy Sunday morning with their son, since the last time Ian had breathed in his smoky, misty scent. Well, 3 months, twenty one days and about... he referred the clock that read 3 am... a couple of hours. Sure, it may have not been healthy to be awake at three o’clock in the morning, but Ian didn’t sleep much these days. While his body lay static, his mind wandered aimlessly, going places he was careful to avoid through the day. Wondering where his Mickey was, what had happened to him, whether he was even ALI- he banished the thought.

Ian hadn’t yet allowed himself to court the possibility of Mickey’s death. He heard it being –carelessly- thrown around when he met detectives, his family. Not directly, never directly. But in not-so-subtle subtext that poked out from under the surface. In Fiona coming to visit him and saying, “Ian, look, you have to prepare for the possibility that he may not come back.” In Svetlana giving Yev the “some people go to heaven for a long trip,” talk. In the detectives exchanging glances they thought he couldn’t see, glances that said, oh look, the crazy husband is back again. 

He told himself four months wasn’t much; he had been AWOL for as long when he had run away from the army. Mickey had lived with the doubt, the choking fear just like him. But running had always been Ian’s thing. Disappearing had been his thing. Mickey was constant, always waiting for him back home. Mickey WAS home. Ian had grown up, he loved their life together. He didn’t run, he didn’t have any need to. Because Mickey was there to kiss him in the morning, to lean against him when he got home, to lay with him at night. Until he wasn’t. 

Living without Mickey was... the most torturous kind of pain. It was pain that numbed you till you were tricked into thinking it had faded. And then it hit you hard in quiet moments, till the loneliness crippled him. He practised a smile in the mirror every morning, so Yev wouldn’t have to live with one absent father, and another broken one. He took the little boy to school, made meals for two (though he always made a little too much out of habit) and watched a movie with him every Friday night. There would be days where the pair would almost fall into the facade of a happy family.

But then Ian would look at their walls, scattered with pictures. Mickey was in barely in any of them; he was always behind the lens, wanting to capture the two most precious things in his life. Now, without him, Ian berated himself for not forcing Mickey into more pictures, just so he would see the beautiful features more often. 

A picture of the three of them, courtesy of Debbie, at the last Gallagher cookout, used to rest on the dining table in a basic black frame. About two weeks after Mickey disappeared, it moved from its earlier position to Ian’s bedside table. Yev had to have noticed. But the little four year old said nothing, understanding in his own childish way that the picture was a placeholder that would keep Mickey close to Ian, even while he was gone.

Missing Mickey wasn’t like missing anything else. Losing a favourite shirt, an old piece of your childhood made you feel bad. You wished for it back for a little while, before adopting a new favourite shirt and being content with memories of what you have lost. But losing Mickey was a whole different kind of hurt that Ian could barely comprehend. Life without Mickey was not an option. There would never be another love of his life. Memories of their life together could never, would never be enough. 

//

On the sixty-seventh day of Mickey’s disappearance, Ian got a call. “Hello, is this Mister Ian Gallagher?” He was in Yev’s room, tidying his son’s closet up for no reason but that he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts and needed a distraction.

“Yes?” The word came out like a question, wondering who was on the other side. 

“I’m calling from the Chicago Police Department. I understand that your husband, Mister Mikhailo Gallagher, went missing earlier this year?”

Instantly, Ian’s attention was grasped with grapple hook. Mickey, Mickey, the police had information on Mickey. “Yes, yes,” he said urgently, grasping the phone closer to his ear, as if it would disappear.

“We found a body.”

The blind terror that filled him was incomprehensible to anyone who hadn’t been in his situation before. And no one had. No one loved anyone the way Ian loved Mickey, and Mickey loved Ian. No one could ever understand what losing that love truly meant. 

Bile rose in his throat as his body rejected the very idea, even as it moved unconsciously and confirmed that he was on his way to the waiting policeman. His hands were shaking enough that he knew he shouldn’t drive, so he called Lip and gave him a rambling, choked version of the events. “Lip, a body, they found a body, I can’t... if he’s gone, how will I LIVE, I do-“He mumbled into the phone, voice barely escaping past the lump in his throat. “I’m on my way,” Lip assured him, and five minutes later, he was in the car and on his way. 

His eyes remained glassy the whole way there, because he wasn’t seeing the world outside the window, not really. He didn’t say a single word to Lip. He listened as Lip made arrangements, called Fiona to take Yev to the Gallagher home, told Svetlana and Mandy what was going on. Ian could hear some echoes of a panic attack when Lip told Mandy, but Ian was too far gone to care.

Instead, he relived the last day he had seen Mickey. It was a Friday. Fridays were great at their home. Mickey would grumble as he left home, but kiss Ian goodbye in a way that showed how much he anticipated the weekend to come. Ian picked up a later shift at the ROTC so he could watch Yev’s morning soccer practice, cheering his son on. Then he would go to work, training young cadets, before leaving and going back home, where Mickey would have already picked up Yev and the family would watch a movie before inevitably falling asleep on the couch.

But that Friday, Ian got a call from Yev’s school, saying no one had come to pick him up. Ian left work early, rushing to his school, all while imagining all the reasons why Mickey hadn’t been there. Work ran late, he thought, but then why didn’t Mickey call? He’s leaving you, he thought, but his mind reassured him that Mickey would never give up their life together. An accident, he feared, forcing him to stay up all night calling hospitals across three states. Maybe it was fucked up to HOPE your husband had been in an accident. But at least that way Ian would KNOW. He could take care of Mickey. Instead he was left there to wonder and worry.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow!” Mickey had shouted from the front lawn, in response to Ian reminding him Yev wanted to go to Disneyland. Those were the last words Mickey had said before disappearing. Not ‘I love you’, like he usually did before leaving in the morning, but “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Ian held onto that, onto the word ‘tomorrow’. There WOULD be tomorrow, it couldn’t be over yet. 

Those couldn’t be the last words Mickey ever said to him. 

//

When he reached the police station, a numb Ian was led to the morgue, which was filled with unmoving bodies covered in white sheets. The room was frigid, but Ian already felt cold from fear. He was led to a body in the corner, small, like Mickey’s. His hands started shaking. He knew the Medical Examiner was saying something, but his ears were ringing too loudly for him to hear. And then, before he was ready (he would never be ready), the ME pulled back the sheet.

As soon as he saw the face, Ian started sobbing. Not quiet, movie cries, but loud wails that you could only let out when your heart was being ripped into two. He heard Lip say, “Shit, is it him?” behind him, before crouching on his knees beside Ian, who had fallen to the ground. “Sir,” The ME said, “I’m sorry, I know this is difficult, but is this your husband’s body?” Lip looked at Ian for confirmation, clearly not having seen the body himself. 

Ian shook his head. And shook his head. And shook his head. He thought he would never stop.

//

He did stop. He came home, picked Yev up, made them mac-n-cheese and read him a story before his son went to sleep. THEIR son. Mickey was alive. He had to be, because Ian’s mind and heart refused to comprehend a life without him. He had barely survived four months without him. How would he live the next fifty, sixty years that way?

That night, there was a storm and Yev crawled into his fathers’ bed in the middle of the night. “Daddy?” He asked in his littlest kid voice, the voice reserved for when he was scared or wanted something really, really bad. “Yeah, bud?” Ian encouraged. Yev cuddled closer to Ian before saying, “When is Daddy going to come back home? Mama said he might not come back, but who’ll make me pasgetti and take me for ice-cream on Friday?” Yev sniffed, and Ian could hear the tears in his voice. It broke his heart. 

“He’ll come home, buddy, don’t worry,” Ian rubbed the little boy’s back slowly, trying to keep the lump in his throat from altering his voice. In his heart of hearts, he had that same childlike fear in his mind. If Mickey was gone, who would bring him Gatorade with his meds, and cuddle with him at night? Who would give him back rubs after hard days at the ROTC, and hold his hand at doctor’s appointments? Who would ever love Ian the way Mickey did?

//

The day they found Mickey started off ordinarily. Ian woke up after a rough night of sleep and checked the calendar. 4 months and 24 days. He rubbed his sleep deprived eyes and sat up, groaning lightly. He then proceeded to wake Yev up, get him ready and take him to soccer practice. It was Friday. 

He got the call while they were still at Yev’s school. “Hello?” He asked quietly into the phone, “I’m sorry, this isn’t a convenien-“ He was shushed in the middle of his excuse. “This is the Chicago Police Department. We found your husband.”

Ian’s heart stopped. Another false body? Or the real thing this time? He felt sick to his core. 

“Alive.”

//

The officer had continued speaking after that, about Mickey’s health and poor state when they had found him. Ian dropped his phone into his pocket, made apologies to the teacher and ran to his car. Yev would forgive him, if this meant he would have his father back. His hands didn’t shake this time. The knowledge that Mickey was alive sent strength coursing through him, even as his eyes filled with grateful tears and his breathing grew ragged.

He parked outside the Chicago State Hospital, where Mickey had been admitted. He didn’t even breathe before running in, and to the counter. “Mickey, Mickey Gallagher?” He asked frantically, “Mikhailo Aleksander Gallagher, please, tell me where he is.” The nurse eyed him, saying, “I’m sorry, sir, but that patient is under police watch. Only immediate fami-“Ian cut her off. “I am immediate family. I’m his husband. Tell me where the fuck he is!” Aggression filled his voice and body stance. It wasn’t like Ian, but the situation allowed for exceptions. 

“Can I see some ID?” She questioned, unimpressed. Ian took out his driver’s license with shaking hands. She scanned it, and said, “Room 336.” She instructed pointing down the hall. Ian ran to the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor twenty times like it would make it move faster. He was practically bouncing up and down. Mickey was alive. Mickey was ALIVE.

When he reached the room, he paused. Not because of the police outside. Not because he was nervous. But because he was scared out of his mind that he would open the door, and it would all be a lie. Mickey would not be back. And Ian would not make it. 

But he steeled himself, reminded himself of all the times Mickey had called him brave and made him believe him. He showed the same ID to the police, and Tony, who was coincidentally on duty, vouched for him. The door swung open and there he was. 

Mickey was bruised and beaten. He looked broken and weak. But his eyes were open. They were the same brilliant blue. And they lit up just because Ian was in front of him.

“Ian,” He breathed.

Ian hesitated, scared, so scared, the dream would end. 

“Ian. It’s okay. I’m here now.”

And Ian broke.

Into a million little gasping, shaking piece against Mickey’s bed, holding the older man’s hand gingerly.

“Where WERE you?! Where the fuck where you?!” He yelled quietly (if that was even possible), “Four fucking months, Mick. I couldn’t... I thought you were-“and he choked on his words yet again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m here now. I’ll never leave you again,” Mickey breathed lightly.

And of course, as you do with people you love, Ian believed him.

//

It took two weeks before Mickey was let out of the hospital. Yev, Mandy, all the Gallaghers came to visit him. Yev cried the first time he saw his dad in the bed. He climbed onto the bed and squeezed his little four year old body next to his father’s. “I love you, daddy,” He whispered, making his fathers’ eyes flood. They had cried enough for a lifetime in those few months.

The first day Mickey came back, the three of them piled into the master bedroom together. They didn’t want to be apart, not just yet. Ian took a month off from work to be with Mickey. So in the nights they would cuddle with their son, but all day they would be alone. Enjoying each other, making the most of the closeness they finally had again. Telling the other he loved him as often as he could, like a mantra of their own.

Five months, and ten days after Mickey was rescued, Ian found an envelope on his pillow (though it was only a relic, seeing as they shoved together on one pillow every night). He picked it up, weighed it in his hand. Mickey watched from the doorway, smiling slightly.

Ian opened the top and pulled out three thin strips of paper.

Tickets to Disneyland.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand by popular demand I will be making a part two to show Mickey's part of the story.. coming soon :)


End file.
